I need to drink water at the gym

Today was a diamond of a day. During the critical hours that promise a tomorrow on this side of time, it came to me in a sudden epiphany that I had the grand total of 2 unused meal credits to my name, and immediately I knew just what to do with them. Ye gad, it was off to The Gate with me. I gathered up my stuff from deep in the science library, escaped the clutches of the textbook, passed the jaws of impending finals and walked happily up (down?) my beloved Thayer street.
5 - 8 minutes later, and you would have found me at The Gate.
In The Gate I walked, bagel, cream cheese and water in mind - card in hand, ready to send those credits to late night snack heaven.
But alas, even diamonds need to be helped to shine. I am dismayed by this system. The poor defenceless (and by that, you know I mean quite the opposite) cashier cannot handle the burden (the immense energy required to raise the arm twice is just too, too much) of swiping a starving students' card twice in order to claim what is rightfully theirs. The now emaciated and famished student must practically leave The Gate with one purchase and return again, if second purchase is necessary.
Bagel, cream cheese or water? I made my decision, ladies and gentlemen, and the water was duly replaced. But damnit, I need to drink water at the gym.

It hurts my eyes

Brother. You knew me. You knew me and you said nothing. You sat there and you watched them come. You watched them come and take me away. They showed up that time when we were sitting by the fire, just the two of us, and they dragged me away and you said nothing. You didn't even look at me brother. You kept staring into the fire and my eyes were on you. They were on you all the way, brother - all the way into this...

And the fire! It hurts my eyes, so I look away. I keep my eyes fixed to the ground and I remember how you looked into the fire. I remember how you let them take me away and you said nothing.

So I ask myself. And then I ask again, but the fire brother, it hurts my eyes.

It hurts my eyes.

The immigrant voice

Back home to here na long long way.
The picture of here from home is so different from the wilderness I de see night and day.
This na America with homeless for every corner
that I think I de a numberless world?
Where all the fine fine things in that picture:everybody dress kamkpe that I think
na angels, Hollywood Heaven they misspell?
Now I work standing so te for minimum wage, get dollars for one hand and give them out for the other.
I come back from work so dead I can't eat or sleep and before dawn I don get up to begin another slave day.
When I reply their letters from home saying here no be what they think they see for their minds, they no gree with me and call me lie-lie man: "You de already there and you no want us to come."
I know my people hate me for telling the truth.
Wetin they see geographers de call am mirage--America na big photo-trick to me.
If say big thief no boku for home and they no give man chance to live softly, America no be place to live for one whole day.
The streets de explode kpa-a kpa-a like Biafra,
dead body no de fear anybody; you no know whether the person saying "Hi!"want to shoot, rob, or rape you.
Neighbour no de, friend no de except them dog; you de for your own like craze-man de pursue dollar which no de stay for your hand--they say na capitalism, when dollar de circulate, circulate without rest.
When somebody don naked for you for daylight, nothing de the big boast of beauty for the cloth e take cover crawcraw and eczema.
No be as e be for the picture they don retouch--beggar, thief, poor poor, all dem de boku.
Sometimes I cry my eyes red for night in bed.
Wetin my eye don see for here pass pepper make me de prepare to go sweet home.
If God de, make e punish them wen drive me from Africa come hell.

November 8th, 2004

So it happened.

Now what?

Grim Reaper

We are living to die

Bitter-bitter

In the desert I saw a man
naked, bestial
who
squatting upon the ground
held his heart in his hands
and ate of it
I asked
"Is it good friend?"
He said
"It is bitter-bitter."
"But I like it."
"Because it is bitter. And because it is my heart"

Ode to a roomate on her birthday

For roomates who will put up with you. For friendship, for the days that I set the wrong time on the alarm clock. For trips to the gate, friday night movies at the providence place mall. For smiles. For laughter.
Hot chocolate at dunkin donuts in the middle of a snowy night. Trips to Mass, staying over with only the thread on my back, double cheeseburgers at Micky Dees - no meat and no pickles please. Plays every month. Hints of a payed-for-by-the-grownups dinner afterwards. Cheesecake with oreos in it. Yum.
For mid-term time. For the kind of patience you don't find everywhere. For being mad but understanding. Frustrations of work, disappointments after exams.
For every routine. V-dub for dinner. Sometimes lunch. Before sleep time tv watching. For sharing. For caring.
For being you.

It was a very bad day

One day I woke up slightly late. Nothing was where I had put it the night before. I ran through a shower and got ready for class. Then I couldn't find my keys. I searched all over the room. They had magically disappeared from where they were the night before. I was sad. I needed my keys. At last I found them. They were under some books.
I reached the door to the outside and it was raining. So I had to go back to my room and get my coat. This was good because once I was there I realised I had forgotten my card. So I put my card in my pocket. Then I left my room. I went to get some coffee because people drink that when they're in class. They say it keeps them I awake. I think it keeps me awake too. I bought my coffee and things were getting better. Then I dropped my coffee mug. All the coffee spilled out onto the sidewalk. I was sad. I needed my coffee.
I got to class just in time. My seat in the very front row was empty! I rushed forward to sit. Then someone cut before me. They sat in my seat. I was sad. I needed my seat.
It was a very bad day.

Past

Give me back what I had before
I want it
I need it
let me feel what I felt before
I crave it
I yearn for it
please
come back to me

Evolution and T.As

The elusive Teaching Assistant (Tutor, etc) is a cunning creature. The common practice of searching high and low is a labor that yields no fruit, as he craftily remains undiscovered, despite several attempts.
Emails, voice mail and other such handy means of communication so useful when tracking down other ordinary species do not produce results either. The elusive T.A (tutor, etc) remains in hiding. It is also a proven fact that at the times when the T.A (tutor, etc) is needed the most; at the crucial intersection resulting from an unanswered question holding a path that surely will lead to unknown turtuous and horrific death a.k.a an appearance of that question on the next days exam - the elusive T.A (tutor, etc) is nowhere to be seen.
Frantic searches, panicked glances are darted hither thither, but in vain. The elusive T.A (tutor, etc) has once again proven his insidous tact.
Years of T.A (tutor, etc) evolution have culminated to produce a species that is perfection itself. The elusive T.A (tutor, etc) is a connoisseur of concealment, a master of masquerade, a dilettante of disguise. If the evolution that produced the T.A (tutor etc) has any short-coming it is the review session. However, even in this, evolution has formed a counter attack.
T.A conspirators abound.
These are the creatures that come to review sessions with the intention of carelessly using up valuable time. They crowd the coveted front row and ask only the most obvious of questions. It is clear from the T.As' (tutors', etc) exhaustive response of what could have been a two word answer that they are in it together.
However, the time is coming when there shall be a revolution. The many manipulated and vulnerable students seeking an A on the exam are vulnerable no more. Together, they are forming ranks and will strive to seek a better and more suitable environment for the ubiquitous last-minute-question-before-the-exam.
Students of Brown unite!

Haiku

bugger it, can't sleep
hours in the quiet night
same old music on
studying chem tomorrow

staring at the wall
nyquil work your sweet effects
tossing and turning
what is the meaning of life?

dawn soon approaches
circadian rhythm lost
nocturnal am I
anguishing the night away

General progressions that lead you nowhere

Milk. Silk. Smooth. Smoothie. Fruit. Plum. Dumb. Blonde. Joke.
Laugh. Hippocampus. Neuroscience. Major. Classes.
University. Usa. Country.

Night time. Lights off. Boarding school. Month holidays. Mango season. Santa Claus? New Year. New Shoes. New books. More plans.

Music. Coldplay. Studying in the Sci Li. Again classes. Learning.

Ever learning

Crawling in my skin

Fade in

Thoughts of things that were; things that used to be; things that could have been. A thousand dry tears. Each one of them silent. Questions with answers that come painfully, slowly - they float with heavy wings, but make no sound.
A sigh, an outward glimpse, but an overall resilience that is somewhat in vain, somewhat untrue. Laughter, smiles. Ice-cream after a long day. Conversations that are two thirds aware, carefree; one third automatic. Life continues and the pieces that make it up fall into place, time moves steadily onward. The present moves on into the future without a backward glance. The past skulks into the realm of the forgotten...
Sun rise, sun set. Fall is here. Seconds, minutes and hours stretching off into eternity. The lingering remains of a dull ache that persists with an uncanny resistance. Frequencies of sound, of light, of pain, of sadness. Long, low and lasting.
Tomorrow will keep on coming. New days will be born, old days will die.

Fade out

Untitled

I never thought that love could fade
that we could ever part
I trusted all your promises
and gave you all my heart

But now I see the coldness there
that lurks beneath your smile
I know that you will leave me
in just a little while

Your touch is soft but meaningless
your kisses tell me lies
there isn't any need for words
the truth is in your eyes

Oh! I shan't plead with you to stay
or let you see me cry
once the flame of love burns low
it's best to let it die

When it's time for our last kiss
my broken heart I'll hide
I will smile and you'll never know
the hurt that's deep inside

Modus Operandi

Time to build me some armor again. The last batch I hitched up had a few weak points. But I have been to the blacksmith and I tell you friends and neighbors, I have the formulae. I'm using hot forge and only the strongest of tools. Ladies and gentlemen, friends and neighbors, I'm building me some high stress, durable, no wear, no tear body armor.
Aint nobody gonna tear it down. Aint no flaming arrows gonna penetrate this armor.
My rules, my life - from now on baby. It's a win win situation. My world is my world. I create the guidelines, the bounderies, and it is my modus operandi. You don't like it? See if I care.
It's back to that town that I love so well. Back to the streets of sarcasm, the corridors of cynicism.
Back to being me.

Silent watchers

I have pressed that button, and the light somewhere in its plastic cavity is glowing. A similar light glowing under another plastic button assures me that the elevator is coming to me. I am assured this because it has an arrow on it pointing to where my feet are on the floor. I am trusting that the people who designed this elevator (or the button) and I are using the same co-ordinate system.
It is here. It opens and there are people in it. I hesitate, wondering if my face and involuntary step forward have betrayed my intentions. Should I stay put and feign a sudden interest in the poster affixed to the wall next to me? Should I make like I forgot something in my room and rush off? Will I be able to squeeze myself into the last remaining spot in that crammed-full-as-if-we-were-sardines elevator? The door is closing, I have to act. One clumsy hand extends, stops the door mid closure. I am in.
Silence. You man next to me with the earphones, what are you thinking? You obvious freshman behind me, wipe that smirk off your face. I am a good person, really I am. I want to be a doctor someday....please tell me the seat of my pants isn't wet. Tell me that strong body odour is not coming from me, tell me something, anything, please.
The doors are open. Sweet, sweet release...

Har de har har har

I have the lack of sleep bug. I am able to sleep only when it is inconvenient for me - say during class, or in a meeting. When it is convenient - like now, sleep eludes me. It stands outside of my window just out of reach and mocks me. It says to me, I will be back when you least need me, like during chemistry tomorrow. I will come visit when you are working...
So what do I do? I read Terry Pratchett, that's what. Right now, I'm reading soul music. Well, not right now at this exact moment, obviously, I'm typing. But you know what I mean. It's a good book, Death decides he needs to think and goes on vacation.
Outside and far away, the world is turning and me being one of the cogs (har de har har har) that keep it working, I realise that everything, after all, is not lost.
So, friends, when it's time to sleep, think about deadrocketcow out in the land of wide awake, and get up an hour early. Maybe sleep will come in through the window and lend me that hour.

2nd year at Malory towers uhh, Brown University

So. It's back to this joint. Back to luvin that V-dubin food, walking the streets of Thayer with a gleam in my eye and a bounce in my stride... No really, I'm going to neuroscience, and what could be better than that?
So, you ask, what classes am I taking? Well, I'll tell you ladies and gentlemen in big and well, white letters, codes and everything included.
BN0103 - Neural Systems
SI0010 - American Sign Language
CG0009 - Quantitative Methods in Psychology
CH0033 - Inorganic Chemistry
Notice the order, ladies and gentlemen, and take note. Chemistry is my favorite class. From the other direction.
What more can I say? Let the games begin? Show time? Whatever the case. I'm glad to be back.

Ode to Stephen King

Stephen King can write. Ladies and gentlemen, friends and neighbours. That dude has skills. I'm talking about major skills here - not just your ordinary I feel like writing today so I will skills, I mean skills that could get somebody shot.
That dude floats my boat, he rocks my world. And by that, friends and neighbours, you know I mean he keeps my eyes glued to those pages till that back cover is reached (soft, cause it's cheaper that way). Give me an S.K book anyday and I will love you for life.
And that's the truth.

Ps - Everything's eventual.

Grandmama

The sunlight shining through the tree by the window makes beautiful patterns on the wall. There is only silence in there. Silence and stillness. Every now and then a stir of air makes it past the window, ruffling the curtains as it comes on into the room where it eventually stills down. If you listen very carefully, you can hear it as it makes its way past the old dresser, over and around the bed, and then under the crack of the door. I know this because I can feel the air as it rushes past my knees on this side of the door where I am crouched, peering through the keyhole. Missy forgot to put the key in, and at last I can see what goes on behind the door.
Grandmama is ancient, she must be all of 200 years old, and with skin to match. I bet dinosaurs roamed the earth when she was in high school. I bet she walked with Noah, she's the one who musta tol him that all the animals deserved an equal chance after the flood, spiders included. Grandmama doesn't talk much but she sure does chew that tobacco. You can see it in her eyes that she took no nonsense, back in the day.
I can't see much into the room. Missy's behind is blocking the view. There is a metal tub in the center of the room, and on one side of Missy I can see Grandmama's head. A whispy white hair-fall flowing down the side of that tub. Grandmama sure has hair. Her eyes are closed, and her mouth is partly open. A string of saliva hangs down, and if I turn just so, the sunlight turns it into a thousand polished and cut diamonds just like the one Missy has on her finger from Jake next door. I hear she had to soap her finger just to put it on. Grandmama told me this with her eyes, and in the way she chewed on her tobacco.
Grandmama's eyes are open and I swear she is looking through the keyhole and straight into my soul. For an eternity I stare into those timeless eyes, those eyes that saw the sun when he was but a boy in diapers. I feel I have trespassed into some private ritual, some ceremony which my eyes were not meant to see.
I blink and she is as she was before, head rested on the side of that tub, eyes closed, mouth slightly open. A thousand polished and cut diamonds gleaming from her chin.